Yesterday, I went for a walk through my town.
Up and down streets, criss-crossing north to south, back and forth: for an hour, I wandered.
As it always does, walking grounded me, and – as it always does – the very fact of being outside reminded me to shake off my worries and simply be.
I’m not sure if photographing some of what I saw took away from that presence.
I don’t think it did; the beauty just kept revealing itself.
I thought of the flowers I sent to my mom the other day, in honor of Mother’s Day.
She, who was also raised by a woman who appreciated a beautiful garden, taught me words like: lantana, hydrangea, iris.
Now, I think of my mom whenever I see vibrant, complex flowers, with their colors and grace, whether I know their names or not.
Just as I think of her when I am proud or scared, joyful or sad, content or confused; her love crosses a continent for me, every day, and I feel it.
Which makes me one of the most fortunate people on the planet.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
Thank you for being mine.